V Masters - The Castilians - A Story of the Siege of St Andrews Castle

‘And lead us not into temptation…’ he hears as he ducks into the guard-room, shouting at James to climb up.

James is quickly out and standing next to Will.

‘Hurry, Knox is near finished his prayer and then the gate will be opened.’

‘You are not coming?’

‘You know I cannot leave my sister. Do not tarry, James, go. They have agreed to the terms.’

Still James lingers until Will squeezes his shoulder and gives a gentle push.

He grasps Will’s hand. ‘I will miss you, my friend.’

‘And I you.’ Will releases his hand. ‘But now I am for the pit, and you are for France – and the bonny French lassies.’

He scrambles over the edge and drops down beside his sister as James stumbles away.

Bethia’s soft hand strokes his cheek. ‘Thank you, brother.’

He knows it should be him apologising, not her thanking him for making right what he did wrong. Instead he says, ‘We should lie down and be hid. Arran’s troops will likely search the castle once it is theirs.’ He thinks of the Cardinal’s remains. ‘Although they may be distracted.’

Nevertheless they tuck themselves beneath the overhang. There is silence and his mind drifts, then he’s shaking.

Bethia strokes his back. ‘I’m sorry you’re trapped in here with me.’

‘It’s not that,’ chokes Will.

‘What?’

He shakes some more.

‘You’re laughing! What is there to laugh about?’

‘Can you even begin to think what Father would say, if he could see us now?’

And then she is laughing too and it’s a comfort to him that, after a long period of strife, they are united.

She grows still. ‘Yet I would not be in this predicament were it not for Father – and especially Mother.’

‘I am sorry,’ says Will. ‘I never thought for a moment that they would create an alliance with the Wardlaws. I truly believed it was all a ruse to get me out of the castle.’

‘I wish it had been.’

He squeezes her arm.

‘Norman Wardlaw is not a bad man; indeed he is kind. If I have to be married to someone not of my choosing, there are many worse; his brother for a start.’

‘And was there someone of your choosing?’

She sighs. ‘I cannot speak of him, it is too painful. Let’s say that he may have been of my choosing, but it seems I was not of his.’

He squeezes her arm again and shifts to tug a rock from under him.

‘Anywise I will deal with Walter Wardlaw as soon as we are out of here. I can assure you he will never trouble you again.’

She sighs, ‘thank you, Will. But I would not have you in danger, he is very powerful.’

‘As am I, in my own way.’

She thinks of him towering over Carmichael and smiles. ‘That is very true.’

They lie still. The rain no longer drips on them and all is quiet.

‘Would Elspeth have been of your choosing?’

Will squirms next to her. ‘Perhaps, I do not know. We didn’t have the chance to discover it.’ He laughs. ‘Although, since you told me she ran off with the painter, I think I was not her choice.’ He grows sombre. ‘I think my calling is to live a life where I follow Christ’s true path, and anything else is secondary.’

She finds his hand in the dark and pats it. ‘You are a good man.’

‘I am trying to be.’

‘I know.’

They sit up and lean against the damp rocks and sharp stones. It must surely soon be dark enough outside for them to risk escape into the short summer night. Bethia falls asleep, head resting against Will’s shoulder. She doesn’t know how long she has slept when he awakens her, fingers pressed to her lips.

There are men moving around the guard-room. They tuck themselves as tightly under the overhang as they can and tug the blanket over them.

‘There is no one in here,’ a voice says.

‘Search each place with care, we were told,’ a gruff voice orders. ‘For who knows what trickery these Castilians may pull.’

‘They looked barely able to walk never mind capable of any trickery: flea-bitten, worm-ridden and poxed. Even the great Norman Leslie was like to a starving beggar.’

‘No mind, we must still search.’

They can hear the men crunching over the rubble, then a flare of light above as the torch is swung over their hiding place.

‘Jesu protect me, what’s that?’ a voice cries. ‘I nearly fell in.’

Her heart is hammering in her chest; Will squeezes her hand and her breathing slows.

The men draw close around the edge, she can feel them. From the voices she guesses there’s at least three, standing high above looking down into their hiding place.

‘God’s bones, were they Protestants in search of Hell? They had no need to dig, it will find them soon enough.’

There’s a snort of laughter.

‘No,’ says one slowly. ‘It’s the beginnings of a mine. They started in the wrong place and abandoned it.’

‘Och well, good to know they had as much wasted effort as we.’

She hears the man hawk and spit above them and mentally thanks Morrison for the thought of the blanket. Unfortunately their captors then decide it’ll be a fine idea to test if the pit is truly empty. Stones are tossed and Will jerks as they hit his back and the top of his head, but no sound escapes him. Only one hits her, for Will’s body is protecting her. She bites her lip and holds her arm – it feels wet, they must’ve drawn blood. A torch is swung above them, back and forth.

‘Throw it in.’

She grips Will’s hand even tighter, she can feel his heart thumping. It is only a moment before the gruff voice speaks, but it feels like a lifetime.

‘And leave us stumbling around here in the dark? Don’t be a fool, Tantallon. Watch out! I think there’s another pit behind you, might be any number we could fall in. Come, we have plenty more places to search but they would be fools to have stayed; to surrender means a life spared, to hide is death.’

‘Only if you’re caught,’ says Tantallon.

She wants to be sick; had not fully understood what a risk they were taking.

The light moves away and the men with it. There is silence in the guard-room once more. Will again presses his fingers to her lips. They hear the quiet shift of a foot on stone. They wait. She’s sure whoever is watching must sense their presence, feel the fear seeping from her.

He sniffs and they hear him stumble away. They lie still beneath the damp blanket against the cold stone for a long time. They can hear the occasional call from outside, then it too goes quiet.

‘We must get out while it is still dark,’ whispers Will. Slowly he pushes the blanket off and rises. Bethia rolls onto her hands and knees and stays there. She’s so stiff she doesn’t think she can stand. She can feel the air shifting above her as Will swings his arms wide and rocks on his feet to get his blood moving. Placing one foot on the ground, she tugs her dress from under it and pushes off with the other, hands crawling up the side of the pit.

Will presses his lips to her ear. ‘I’ll give you a lift to climb.’

‘I must get these skirts out of the way first.’

She wears only a shift beneath, but she fumbles at her waist to loosen the string and the skirt drops to her feet.

‘Wait,’ whispers Will as she feels above her for the first protruding rock to grip. ‘Let me go first.’

‘Don’t leave me down here!’ She holds tightly onto his arm.

‘I stayed to protect you, I’m hardly likely to leave you now.’

She lets go and he starts to climb, but his flailing leg kicks her in the face and he drops back and holds her. She rests her aching cheek on his shoulder briefly, then lifts her head. ‘Go,’ she whispers.